


Time to Preen!

by Lostfadingthoughts



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Feather Preening, Intimacy, M/M, ineffable husbands, wing preening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 08:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostfadingthoughts/pseuds/Lostfadingthoughts
Summary: A short Ineffable Husbands prompt, preening wings/feathers.





	Time to Preen!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Anon who sent me the prompt in my ask box on Tumblr! This prompt is feather/wing preening! This chapter is a part 1 to a possible part 2 drabble! I didn't want to take too long to post this so I've paused it here and will hopefully write the second part soon! 
> 
> I always love to hear feedback! Be sure to comment below before you leave and if you'd like to send me an ask for a prompt or to just chat about this drabble or Good Omens in general, my blog name is tempt-me-for-a-spot-of-lunch !
> 
> Enjoy Darlings!

It would be funny to say that when Crowley had an itch he couldn’t reach, he’d find odd ways to scratch it rather then ask for help. It was even funnier to see him go to such lengths to do so.

Aziraphale took a little bit of delight at seeing Crowley rotate his shoulders at first with irritation. He watched, a small smile playing on his lips as Crowley, unaware of how amusing he was to Aziraphale during these small moments, was busy trying to upgrade from merely twitching to flat out rubbing against the back of the sofa he was sitting on.

He hadn’t even noticed that Aziraphale was watching him stand and find a cornered spot in the threshold that stood between solace and the rest of the bookshop; Nor when he began running his back along the corner like a bear rubbing his back against the bark of a tree.

Crowley didn’t notice anything until Aziraphale let loose a tiny snort.

“Is there something the matter, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley stopped what he was doing to try and act like he wasn’t embarrassed. “Have an itch?”

“No, I just love rubbing myself up against your furniture and building fixtures.” Crowley spoke flatly, glad his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. “Yes, of course I have an itch.” He was already so irritated, he didn’t need the gleeful expression on Aziraphale’s face to add to his utter torment.

Aziraphale stood, walking over to Crowley with a comforted ease. “Oh turn around, I’ll get it for you.” He scoffed lightly.

“S’not that easy.” Crowley mumbled.

Blonde eyebrows rose in concerned confusion. “What do you mean?”

Clearing his throat and twitching his shoulder blades lightly, Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “Well it’s not like we get to spread our wings daily, I’ve been a bit behind on tending to them and now-”

“I could help you, if you’d like.” Aziraphale spoke softly this time, any amusement in his voice gone.

It was a very serious thing, to offer to help tend another’s wings. Though they had spent so much time on earth, Crowley was right in saying that they didn’t exactly pay attention to their ethereal responsibilities much of the time. Sure, the stray miracle here and there to appease the head office but they primarily lived a human existence. 

Aziraphale tended to himself maybe once every decade but that required a lot of work and time away from his shop and his fine foods. He could understand why Crowley didn’t think it important enough to frequently do so, but to offer to help was a deeply intimate question.

Wings on an angel were another extension to them, like an arm or strands of hair. They felt every touch, every mild brush, every gust of wind passing through their feathers. 

Crowley couldn’t seem to reach the area that was bothering him and so the only logical thing to do would be to have someone else do it. 

Aziraphale asked with a heaviness held on bated breath, wondering if everything they’d gone through would prove that he was capable of helping Crowley with such a personal matter.

The thought of Aziraphale’s hands running through his wings brought goosebumps to the back of Crowley’s neck , a cold shiver running down along his spine. It didn’t help the constant itch, in fact only worsened it. 

Crowley twitched his shoulders again and stood up straight. “Yeah, that’s fine-we uhm, need to make room.”

Aziraphale chuckled, his nerves causing a bit of a twitch of his own. He mustered up the strength he’d need to create such a space.

Before either knew it, time had stood still and Aziraphale and Crowley now stood on a different plane of existence. This time they were not surrounded by sand dunes and a beaming sun, no, now they were in an entirely different place. 

They were still in doors, but the walls and ceiling were far off from them, sitting a grand space back and made of glass. Outside, the sun shone down on them but inside it was a pleasantly cool temperature. 

Near to them sat a comfy space of large pillows piled atop more large pillows and underneath them was a very stylish blue tartan blanket. 

Crowley chuckled at the sight, remarking internally that if thought were really put into it, these planes of existence could be very cozy. He thought of this as large grey wings outstretched themselves behind him. 

While he felt it easier to breath, the itch at the base of his left wing was still itching something awful and he couldn’t help but twitch his shoulders again. He turned to see Aziraphale stretching his own wings, white and big and beautiful. The look of feeling complete was a pleasant sight to see on Aziraphale’s face and for a moment Crowley forgot to look away.

Aziraphale noticed and smiled before ushering Crowley towards the blanket and the small pillow mountain.

“Go on, then. Take a seat and I promise to be gentle.”

The air between the two was thick, suddenly heavy. One could almost taste the tension as demon and angel took their places on the blanket. 

Crowley faced the pillows , sitting with his legs tucked underneath himself. It was a rare way for him to sit, one that had usually brought on prayer spoken long ago when he still had faith and believed that angels and God were infallible. For reasons unknown and purely because it felt right, Crowley sat this way now, his back as rigid as a board.

Aziraphale waited patiently before joining Crowley. He sat behind the demon and marveled for a moment at the greyness of Crowley’s wings. It was as if the feathers were made of dark ash, smoothed together like sand. He noticed parts were ruffled and a bit worn, clucking his tongue at the current state. 

“Really Crowley, you should take better care of yourself.”

Crowley made a noise half way between and grunt and a grumble but he didn’t say much else until Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I apologize but I’m afraid you will have to remove your coat and shirt for me to inspect the affected area.” Aziraphale spoke more official then he’d meant to but his nerves were too busy dancing around inside him, distracting him and causing him to overly focus on the situation.

Frustrated and a bit embarrassed, Crowley removed his coat and top, letting the fabric pass through his wings as they became momentarily incorporeal. He made sure to stare daggers at the pillows as heat flushed his face and ears and shoulders.

Aziraphale lifted a hand to gently press against what he assumed was the aggravated spot on Crowley’s back. He felt the demon shudder under his fingertips, goosebumps rising where Aziraphale touched him. It was a moment before either spoke but Crowley cleared his throat and grumbled out, “S’to the left.” 

Following his lead, Aziraphale moved his fingers slightly to the left and when Crowley told him down just a bit, he did just that as well. Crowley felt colder then he should but Aziraphale wasn’t complaining. He, himself, always gave off a warmer touch so why couldn’t Crowley be the opposite? Crowley’s skin felt smooth, an amusing contrast to his otherwise serpentine nature, and Aziraphale could feel the muscles underneath expand and contrast as only a human body could.

Albeit the heaviness of the situation, Crowley felt a great release as Aziraphale found the spot. He almost smiled and was grateful that Aziraphale couldn’t see his face. “Right there.” He spoke clearly, melting into Aziraphale’s touch as his itch was finally scratched. He sighed contently, letting himself sink into relaxation. 

It lasted for only a moment before Aziraphale moved his hand from Crowley’s back toward the darkened wings. Crowley could feel every single touch from Aziraphale’s hands, could feel his warm fingers getting to work on sprucing up the feathers. It felt nice and not so nice at the same time. In fact, it felt so nice that it ceased to be nice at all and more on the side of a thousand sparks of heat zapping him like static on a dry day.

It felt strange to have his feathers smoothed and brushed by experienced hands. He use to pluck his own old and worn feathers and now Aziraphale was doing it for him. It felt nice to have someone help but every touch of the angel’s fingers set ablaze a familiar urge from somewhere deep down inside, one he touched on every now and then in a moment of vulnerability. 

Crowley shivered under Aziraphale’s touch and while the angel took notice, he chose to continue onward and not dwell on silly, unattainable things. He started gently by pulling loose the old feathers with bits of fluff stuck here and there. He ran his fingers between them, smoothing out any rough spots he could find.

The feathers moved on their own beneath his hands, seemingly breathing as they spread in and outward in a rhythmic pattern. Aziraphale could practically hear a low hum emanating from Crowley, a sound Aziraphale made quite often when he was content with life. Smiling, Aziraphale continued on, a little amused by Crowley’s head dipping forward ever so slightly.

Before long, Aziraphale’s hands stopped moving along Crowley’s wings. The demon had been so busy semi-relaxing and semi-nervous, that it took him a moment to realize Aziraphale had even stopped. Crowley lifted his head up and turned to see the angel smiling in accomplishment of a job well done. “All finished.” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley wanted to say thank you to that face. He wanted to thank you but he couldn’t. The words had locked themselves tightly within his throat, stuck with fear. He could feel heat flush his face the longer he didn’t speak. It was as if he had forgotten how. He was too busy watching Aziraphale’s face and his smile, which was slowly falling away.

Aziraphale tried and gave one more tiny smile before moving to stand. He surely wasn’t expecting silence. Crowley was always good with pleasantries, but something seemed different now. Crowley looked at him differently now. It was enough to make Aziraphale nervous, so he decided to stand and leave.

Quickly and without hesitation, Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s wrist. “Wait.” He barked out, his tongue struggling behind his teeth. When silence pressed on between them, Aziraphale shifted awkwardly. 

“What?” He asked, hoping Crowley would speak soon. 

“Uhm-it’s only right, you took care of mine, I should- yours. I mean I should take care of yours too. If you’d like.” Words were failing him now, reducing him to a gutteral mess. 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, suddenly aware of what the other was asking. Aziraphale shook his head and gently pulled his arm away from Crowley’s hand. He stood, straightening his clothes. He put a smile on his face so as not to worry Crowley. It wasn’t his fault, he shouldn’t feel bad for asking. 

“No no, that’s quite alright. I-I can tend to them myself. I’m not one to forget so easily, Crowley.” Aziraphale smirked, watching Crowley stand, his wings folding in on themselves behind him. He tugged at his clothes once more, hands tightly gripping the worn fabric, as Crowley walked ever so closer to him.

Crowley could see the minute gesture, his eyes falling to Aziraphale’s hands and jumping up to meet wide blue eyes. Reaching outward, Crowley laid a hand on one of Aziraphale’s. 

“Angel.”


End file.
